The First Officer Fiasco
by Kavery12
Summary: In the interests of promoting comradely good-will amongst starships, the USS Impala and the USS Potemkin swap first officers for two weeks. Guess who's not impressed?


I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural.

A story which sprang from a phrase/suggestion by the fantastic, helpful Gilded.

* * *

><p>"They want to do <em>what <em>to my first officer?" Captain Dean Winchester was being borderline insubordinate but there was no way in hell he was letting some jumped up admiral with delusions of grandeur steal away his first officer and brother for two weeks just so the admiralty could monkey around with his crew.

First officer exchange program to promote intra-ship relations and good will. Bullshit.

Pike sighed. "Dean, just go with it. Screw with the man's head, terrify him, as long as he returns to his ship alive at the end of two weeks I don't care. But if you're polite to the Admiralty's faces, Sam will be back in no time. And if you manage to scar the patsy enough, the admirals won't do it again. They just want to shake things up on several major starships, make sure that captains aren't becoming too accustomed to the status quo. The only one escaping is _Enterprise_ and that's because they couldn't find an officer willing to take Spock's place. It's an order. It's happening. Make the most of it. Look at it this way – you're getting out of a diplomatic mission."

"And sending Sam to boredom central all on his own? Admiral, I may hate diplomatic missions but I only foist them off on Kirk!"

Sam sighed, speaking up for the first time. He felt kind of like a kid caught between divorced parents. "Dean. I'll be _fine_."

"That's what you said about the mission to Tantalus. You almost didn't come back, remember? Then there was that expedition to PE-5948. And that bat-shit alpha science team is going to blow up the ship without you there to sit on them!" Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation and Dean knew he was dangerously close to sulking but the _Impala _needed her first officer, not some jumped up scientist from the _Potemkin_, damn it!

* * *

><p>Regardless.<p>

Sam transported out two hours later.

The patsy transported in smug, self-important and very confident.

Ha. Confident.

Fool.

* * *

><p><em>Day One - Potemkin<em>

Sam blinked at the office he found himself in as his escort waited politely and stiffly at the door. The first officer aboard the _Potemkin_ had an office? Sam didn't have an office. He should complain to Dean, just on principle, maybe tease Dean about wanting to stay on the _Potemkin_.

Either way, time to go to work.

* * *

><p><em>Day One - Impala<em>

"Where is Commander Winchester's office?" Commander Ben Bridges demanded. Castiel had been assigned to show him around. So far the dark-haired pilot had said no more than five words and looked very surprised at the question.

"Commander Winchester feels that having an office distances himself from the crew and makes him less approachable. He also does not, quote, have time for an office, end quote." Castiel recited matter-of-factly. "Of course, should you find the space essential to perform your duties, we could always clear out a closet, perhaps. The _Impala_ converted the wall material from her offices into hull shielding several months ago and chose to utilize the remaining space as training facilities or an expansion of engineering." And with that, Castiel turned on his heel. "Science is this way. Commander Winchester left a brief list of his daily and weekly duties so that you should not be confused."

Commander Bridges considered himself a competent officer, one who was organized, mentally sharp and proficient, capable of handling almost every situation. However, he came to the conclusion that Sam Winchester was secretly an android. The PADD detailing Winchester's duties was excruciatingly detailed and the man must run himself ragged all over the ship.

A Sam Winchester day began at six in engineering, science at eight thirty sharp (or else the alpha shift would start accidentally blowing things up, the PADD added), lunch with Captain Winchester at one thirty, daily hydroponics maintenance at two, communication with Lieutenant Commander Uhura and Commander Spock regarding advanced subspace transmissions at three thirty (and if Bridges were to complete the hydroponics, he'd have to cancel on the _Enterprise _officers which made him glad because he hadn't the slightest clue or interest regarding advanced subspace transmissions), engineering again, bridge duty and then dinner whenever and P.S. don't forget to keep Dean out of trouble and don't let him a) beam down to any planets without you and b) don't let him do the talking unless you're absolutely, totally positive he doesn't speak the language.

And the schedule changed daily.

Then there was the list of "Things the Bridge Crew is Not Allowed to Do."

It was at least as long as the list of "Things Captain Winchester is Not Allowed to Do."

Both lists had appendices.

* * *

><p><em>Day Three – Potemkin<em>

Sam wasn't quite sure how to handle life aboard the _Potemkin_. He had only ever been first officer aboard the _Impala_, but he'd always operated under the assumption that most first officers who were also science officers had a ridiculous amount of work to do. It was the reason there were only three in the fleet – himself, Spock and this Commander Bridges.

But Commander Bridges left a very short list of duties and most of it was overseeing work.

Sam shrugged.

He'd take the list as…guidelines.

The crew of the _Potemkin_ didn't know what to make of Commander Sam Winchester. They were used to their aloof first officer delegating everything except the most important work to his subordinates. Any crew member with personnel problems submitted a form to the first officer and he would call them to his office when he had a solution. It was an impersonal system, but it worked.

Sam Winchester on the other hand, got up with alpha shift and plunged straight into work, helping out wherever he was needed even if it was only babysitting Ensign Riley's pet Venus flytrap experiment. When the science department convinced him really they didn't need his help, he floated off to engineering, where the chief engineer was absolutely flabbergasted to find a very tall substitute science officer earnestly offering his assistance.

Upon being graciously rebuffed, Sam found himself standing bewildered in an intersection as busy crew members zipped past him.

He had nothing to do.

He meandered back to Bridges' office and flipped through the forms on his desk. Ah, personnel disputes! Those always took a day or two.

To his chagrin, Sam efficiently cleared those up inside of two hours, even though he made sure to hear everyone's opinion and reached acceptable compromises.

He thoroughly researched their upcoming diplomatic mission and brushed up on the native language and customs, as well as the history. Just in case. There was no evidence of violence on the planet, but Sam noted the telltale trends of censoring and creative editing. He made a note to bring it to Captain Poole's attention.

Then he found himself tapping his fingers against the desk, staring at the shiny plaques put up to show Bridges' dedication, smarts and accomplishments. Sam couldn't even maintain his usual experiments because they weren't in the right quadrant. Spock wouldn't be free until three thirty. He hoped Bridges was kind enough to keep up with his scans.

Maybe it was time to start that paper on the phonetic differences between Romulan and Vulcan as it pertained to social and cultural shifts in each species' history beginning with the pre-Romulan split from Vulcan.

He had to request the files from the _Impala_, but was happily absorbed until he had bridge duty.

* * *

><p><em>Day Three – Impala<em>

The USS _Impala_ was a madhouse. A complete madhouse. There was no organization, no chain of command, no protocol. The science department was regularly conducting experiments that should be performed on a planet, where there was no chance of an explosion causing a hull breach. Crew members came directly to him whenever they could find him with their problems, which were always convoluted, involved and usually headache-inducing. Engineering was a mystical maze and Bridges had come to the conclusion that Winchester was vastly smarter than he was because the engineer had asked Bridges a dual science/engineering question and Bridges didn't have an answer. Questions like that were for the specialists on star bases!

Evidently not. Every time Bridges said he didn't know, he could see the disappointed ghost of Sam Winchester looming in the questioner's eyes. Sam would know. Sam would have an answer. Sam would fix it.

And that didn't even touch the issue of Captain Winchester.

The man was magnetic, charismatic and definitely a great leader.

He was also foul-mouthed, juvenile, disorganized and very irritated at having lost his excellent first officer.

Bridges was undecided as to whether or not Captain Winchester was brilliant or just half a hair sharper than the average village idiot.

Either way, he was just glad that the _Impala_ had been put on courier runs for the next two weeks. There was no way he could coordinate the scientific information necessary for an away mission, not without developing Sam Winchester's robotically efficient capabilities.

He was interrupted from his hydroponics maintenance by a little science ensign literally tugging on his sleeve.

Snapping his head up, an exhausted Bridges glared and the shy girl hopped back with a dismayed squeak. Marshalling himself, Bridges managed to smooth his expression into something more neutral but by that point she was gone.

Good riddance.

* * *

><p>Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead and patting the ensign's shoulder. Her question was easily answered, her hurt feelings soothed. Helping her didn't solve Dean's first officer problems though. He had been acting like an ass to the science officer, but he felt more than a little justified. Filling Sam's shoes was ridiculously difficult and even though Bridges recognized that, he didn't seem to be stepping up. So Dean had been goofing off around Bridges and then running like mad behind the scenes, trying to force his brain into Sam-mode. He'd already recruited Ash and Castiel as extra Sam-minions.<p>

Because no, Bridges' memo/order to the alpha shift had not been read by that intrepid group (alpha shift? Read memos? Whatever for?) and they had almost gotten away with a rather poorly planned acid experiment that probably would have burnt a giant hole in the science deck and dripped into the food replicators, ruining them. Then he was pulling double weight in engineering. Usually he and Sam worked together in their spare time to help Bobby keep the rather delicate unofficial _Impala_ systems running smoothly.

Meanwhile, Castiel was trying to tease the communications systems into remaining unsnarled and thinking you know, the next time Sam argued for a comm refit instead of more engine juice, Castiel might back him on that proposal.

And Ash was bitterly cursing the sensor array that was supposed to be self-maintaining when really, it was just Sam-maintaining and this was the science officer's job to begin with damn it, Ash did not do this sort of computer work and where the hell was Bridges!

Really, the _Impala_ had been forced onto easy courier runs because no senior member of the crew was dispensable and covering for someone as integral as Sam was going to tell on everyone by the end of two weeks. Dean knew they'd be in the same situation if Cas, Ash or heaven forbid, Bobby had to play officer exchange one day.

Hey, on the bright side, if the ship fell apart, maybe they'd get Sam back early.

One could only hope.

* * *

><p><em>Day Six – Potemkin<em>

Captain Poole was a very boring man, Sam learned. If it was not spelled out in the very large but very bland Starfleet regulation tome, it was not done. So no, Sam wasn't allowed to call the _Enterprise_ in interests of pursuing a theory unless it was on Sam's time (and he was only allotted thirty minutes a day). No, Sam wasn't allowed to officially help out in engineering. No, Sam couldn't pull double bridge duty in an attempt to keep himself occupied. Because Captain Poole was on the planet being a diplomat, a first officer had to stay on the ship – no away mission. And no, Sam couldn't be on the bridge because the helmsman had the conn and Captain Poole discouraged hovering. Lots of no's.

Sam was bored.

He'd forgotten what it was like on other ships. He had gotten out of the habit of occupying himself with whatever mundane object was at hand when the _Impala_ had fallen into his lap with a science department in shambles – the world's biggest, most interesting fix-it project beside the _Impala _herself. Between the two demanding divas, Sam was a happy science-geek.

The _Potemkin_ on the other hand…

With nothing to do, Sam borrowed a page out of Jim Kirk's book, wrote a quick code for 3-D tic-tac-toe on his PADD and sat playing in his office, waiting for the machine-like crew to need their superfluous first officer.

Prior to Sam's life aboard the _Impala_, he had spent time on seven other ships. He had always been transferred because they couldn't keep him in work and it was bad for morale to keep a bored crew member around. Other personnel would get jealous and bring overall efficiency down.

That was how the _Impala_ ended up with a crew of misfits – Sam's science department was full of geniuses who lacked the ambition for command but couldn't be kept on other ships because they caused conflict. The only other ship lucky enough to suffer from this 'problem' was _Enterprise_ (and Sam was still ticked about losing his second in command to Spock. Sure, the _Enterprise_'s botanical section was better. It wasn't Sam's fault that Starfleet didn't see the need for _Impala_ to have a simulated beach. Spock was a personnel thief, the sneaky hobgoblin).

Bored, bored, _bored_.

He had his feet up on the desk when the door chimed. Sitting up with a start, his boots hit the floor and the tic-tac-toe game vanished. "Come," he called. The door hissed open and a scientist poked his head in hesitantly.

"Sir, you said we could ask you anything?"

Sam grinned hopefully and nodded, waving him in.

"Could I get your opinion on this physics equation?"

"Absolutely! Come on in!"

* * *

><p><em>Day Six – Impala<em>

Bridges was feeling very alone at the moment.

The _Impala_'s crew regarded him with blatant suspicion at worst and disinterest at best. Apparently Admiral Pike had been correct in warning Bridges about taking the _Impala_ when she was offered. Three other first officers had refused before him, citing that they didn't think they could work with Captain Winchester. Bridges had thought it an excellent opportunity to show what he was made of.

Admiral Pike had advised him that the only person in Starfleet capable of filling Sam Winchester's shoes for any period of time was Spock.

Bridges had taken the statement as a challenge.

He was busy thinking he fully understood how wrong he was, sipping his absolutely awful coffee (really, he didn't understand why everyone else's smelled so good) when a banana peel magically appeared under his foot, sending PADD, Danish, coffee and first officer flying.

Then the tiny, over-loaded station that passed for Sam's office was carefully, painstakingly glued to the ceiling exactly as it appeared when on the floor, little cup of styluses and all.

All Bridges' notes were translated into pig Latin and then into Klingon.

Then his quarters disappeared – the door simply ceased to exist. It took him over an hour to find the holographic projector.

His bridge chair broke under him just as Admiral Pike called and Bridges vanished from view mid-conversation, sprawled all over the floor in an undignified heap.

He stormed about trying to conduct an investigation but was acutely aware that just about everyone who would initiate such a prank was smarter than he and probably had prior prank experience.

Captain Winchester was no help whatsoever.

And there was no way in hell Bridges was running back to the _Potemkin _or calling one Sam Winchester, whom Bridges was beginning to hate on principle despite never having met the man.

* * *

><p><em>Day Eight – Potemkin<em>

Sam was having fun in the science department. They were a good group of people and with Sam's help, managed to clear their rather massive backlog of work.

The science department was well on their way to loving Sam Winchester. Once they realized he wasn't going to write them up as slackers or berate them for bending protocol just that bit, they relaxed and made full use of his talents.

Captain Poole was walking through the rec room later that evening when he heard a usually quiet lieutenant squawk "No way!"

Curious, he sat in a chair and rather blatantly eavesdropped.

"Way, man, I'm telling you. Commander Winchester's a genius. You've heard me gripping about the entire department slogging away at that huge pile of crap. Commander Bridges has been trying to clear out for months and in an afternoon, Commander Winchester sorts through all of it, takes at least half and farms out the rest. Then he turns it into a race – first person to finish their work perfectly gets to be king of the lab for a day. Lieutenant Commander Li won but we're all pretty sure that's only 'cause Commander Winchester had way more work than the rest of us. It's done now and we can finally start personal projects again. They can say what they want about the _Impala_, Commander Winchester is awesome."

Captain Poole was more than a little skeptical. He knew about the backlog in the science department. It was massive and grew daily because Bridges and his people were supposedly overworked. Picking up his PADD, the captain scrolled through the science department's day. Sure enough, there was a prodigious amount of work under the completed section, most of it registered personally by one Commander Sam Winchester.

Picking several files at random, Poole scrunched up his face and prepared to put his Academy-rusty science skills to work. To his further surprise, all the results were meticulously neat and an easily comprehensible overview attached to each report let the captain know what had been done and why it was pertinent to the _Potemkin_. Poole found that after an hour of reading, he didn't have a massive headache like he usually experienced from Bridges' work, probably because he wasn't trying to decipher mile-long scientific terms.

He was beginning to see why Winchester had been so pissed at the prospect of even temporarily losing his first officer.

* * *

><p><em>Day Eight – Impala<em>

Bridges was getting desperate. Itching powder had appeared in his clothes, his blond hair had turned bright green, the door to his quarters had jammed, resulting in him being twenty minutes late to the bridge and he wasn't getting any work done. Despite that, the science department seemed to be running itself, delegating duties left and right, shifting work away from their now-useless science officer.

One tactless ensign had cheerfully chirped that they were just pretending that Commander Winchester was in the infirmary again and he was getting out in six days. They'd have to have the department in impeccable condition so that Commander Winchester didn't try to strain himself too early and end up back in infirmary.

Bridges unsuccessfully tried not to be offended.

He put in a complaint to Admiral Cartwright but refused to include details. When the admiral's secretary sent him back a message stating that without further information, there was no reason to move him, Bridges hemmed, hawed, glared and then reluctantly listed the reasons. In excruciating detail.

Cartwright personally sent him a message saying "Good luck sticking it out."

He was stuck on this god-forsaken ship for another six miserable days. He relieved his feelings by writing a scathing report on Captain Winchester's ineptitude and laziness, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of his head that said it was Captain Winchester who had been sneakily taking up most of the science slack Bridges couldn't handle.

Then that afternoon, their easy courier run was interrupted by Klingons looking for easy prey.

Suddenly, Bridges understood the meaning of useless.

The entire bridge crew shifted around him like they were a fluid rushing river and he a stone, in their way, immovably useless but inoffensive.

He watched Lieutenant Castiel twist the ship through space as Lieutenant Commander Ash pounded their enemies with phasers. Captain Winchester orchestrated the whole encounter with a sharp, efficient focus, all signs of the lackadaisical captain eradicated.

Bridges put in a renewed transfer request as the _Impala_ daintily picked her way through the scattered bits of Klingon war bird.

* * *

><p><em>Day Nine – Impala <em>

Captain Dean Winchester glared at Admiral Cartwright, who glared right back.

"What do you mean, you can't contact the _Potemkin_?"

"You heard me the first time Winchester. The _Enterprise _is looking into it."

When the transmission cut out and Captain Winchester muttered dire threats under his breath, Bridges had a sudden burning urge to check on the status of Sam Winchester's micro-fungi experiment, just to get away from the captain's looming bad temper.

* * *

><p><em>Day Nine – Potemkin<em>

"Well," Sam muttered, "Dean's never going to let me live this down."

He stared at the screen from the captain's chair, thinking furiously. They'd already missed a check in with Starbase 11 but by the time enough muscle arrived to fix the problem by the book, Captain Poole and his away team would be dead.

Sam knew he should have pressed Captain Poole to take that report of censored history more seriously. Dean would have listened. Evidently Sam had also forgotten what it was like to be ignored.

In the meantime, Sam glared at the nasty rebel leader who had no qualms about flattening an entire city, Captain Poole and team included with a rather crude but very effective nuclear weapon. "We do not negotiate with invaders!" the leader crowed melodramatically and Sam tried not to sigh.

"What is it you want?" he asked calmly.

"The release of all rebel prisoners, a public apology from our oppressors and the Federation's promise to withdraw their insidious tendrils of influence. You have four hours or I start killing your Federation friends." The cold glint in the man's eye told Sam volumes as he cut the transmission.

"All right people, any ideas?" he asked and got an entire bridge of blank faces staring at him. "Right, not the _Impala_. Sorry. Do we know if the rebel prisoners are alive?"

The navigator shook his head. He'd been in on almost every meeting Poole had with the natives. "No sir. The captain had just gone down to the planet to discuss the mass grave one of our sensor sweeps turned up. My estimate is that the Frii did not keep the prisoners alive."

Sam scowled. They'd been out of contact with the Federation for four hours now. The _Potemkin_ had no one capable or willing to tag along with Sam on an infiltration mission and Sam wasn't stupid or desperate enough to go alone. Yet. Things might get easier if another ship with more competent, confident security officers were to show up.

"Commander! We're being hailed by _Enterprise_!"

Hallelujah. Wish and it shall be granted.

"Excellent timing, Captain Kirk," Sam said by way of greeting, relaxing into the captain's chair.

"Hey-a Sam, what's shaking?" Kirk asked jovially. "I see the _Potemkin_'s still in one piece. Why'd you miss check-in?"

Sam explained the situation to Kirk, who scowled. "And you didn't notice any problems with the information when you first checked it over?" Sam shrugged. Speaking out against the captain in front of his crew was bad form and he was pretty sure Kirk knew it.

"Right," Kirk muttered. "I'll beam a security team down to extract. Should be fairly straightforward."

Sure enough, Kirk's team managed to get the captain and his men out in one piece and Sam was very ready to go back to the _Impala _where the captain listened to him, especially if Sam sat on his head.

Captain Poole stumped back onto the ship in a fine bad temper. No self-respecting captain (the Winchesters being the surprisingly sensible exception) liked being rescued by Jim Kirk, the crazy idealist who was always flirting with the edge of legality in the name of justice.

Poole eyed his substitute first officer, who courteously vacated the captain's chair. "Why didn't you send in a security team?" he demanded in stiff tones.

Sam snapped to perfect attention, aware of the many people watching him. "I did not have confidence in my ability to give orders that would be followed to a successful conclusion, sir. I am not normally a part of this crew and ordering them into a delicate situation where they might have questioned my leadership would have ended poorly for all involved, you included, sir. When the _Enterprise_ arrived with her leadership intact, I allowed the more confident ship to take action."

Poole glared and the words literally jumped from his mouth. "I thought a Winchester would have had more courage." The bridge crew froze as Sam's jaw clenched spasmodically.

"And I thought you had received my report regarding censorship and its ramifications, as well as the science department's report on the mass grave discovered prior to your departure. Sir."

Jim Kirk was hovering just outside the doorway and had to swallow a grin as Spock kept a restraining hand on his eavesdropping captain's elbow. Sam Winchester, politely and righteously pissed. It was a rare, beautiful thing.

"If you are dissatisfied with my service, I have received notification that Commander Bridges is requesting an early transfer back to the _Potemkin_. I would gladly return to the _Impala_ immediately if you so desire, sir." Commander Winchester's voice was frigidly emotionless.

"Certainly but – " Captain Poole blustered now that his anger was fading.

"Let the record show that Captain Poole states he no longer requires my presence aboard this ship. Captain Kirk, would you be able to return me to the _Impala_, allowing Captain Poole to complete to his mission?"

Kirk straightened his face from gleeful to neutral with mild difficulty and stepped out of the shadows. "I can do that, Captain, Commander. _Enterprise _will be departing in twenty now that the situation is contained."

* * *

><p><em>Day Nine – Impala<em>

"Awesome!" Dean crowed as the screen blipped off. "Sam's gonna be here in three hours! This is excellent. We'll pick up Sam and drop off Commander Bridges at Starbase 11."

Bridges started in surprise. Captain Poole was the most easy-going captain Bridges knew. Quite frankly, that was why he liked working for Poole – he kept his nose out of Bridges' department and ran a well-regimented ship. Whatever had Sam Winchester done to irritate the man? One of the perks to being communications officer, Bridges realized, was that he could find out. He sent an email to Lieutenant Commander Gaines of the _Potemkin_, who replied promptly that it wasn't so much that the captain didn't want Sam, it was that Sam didn't want the captain after being called a coward in front of the entire bridge crew.

Oops.

Bridges had forgot to leave a note regarding the captain's one single quirk – Poole had never been able to completely break himself of saying imprudent, cruel things when he was angry, frightened or both at the same time. The first time Poole had said something like that to Bridges, it had stung for weeks until the captain apologized and Bridges had simply accepted it as a character flaw to be planned around.

And with a proud Winchester, questioning his courage would be a fatal mistake.

Double oops.

Oh well. Nothing for it now.

And he got to go home at the very least, Bridges sighed mentally.

_Three hours later…_

Captain Winchester hadn't been able to sit still and ordered the _Impala _to meet _Enterprise_ halfway. Commander Bridges was standing by to officially hand command back over to the 'real' first officer.

Commander Winchester materialized in a swirl of lights, wearily hoisting a duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "Sammy! What took ya so long? I can't fix the hydroponics, Spock's been scaring your minions 'cause they screwed up your subspace-experiment-thingy and Ash says if he has to run one more scan because he's the only one who has steady enough hands to manually calibrate that thing you said you'd fix but didn't, he's going to cut the sensor array loose to drift away."

Captain Winchester finally ran out of steam and Commander Winchester grinned, a quick flash of white teeth and mirth. "Missed you too, brother."

"Missed? Who said anything about missed? I just said the ship was falling apart like usual. You've been slacking over on the _Potemkin_. Bridges probably has the entire ship jumping through hoops. All you had to do was sit on your ass. Then you went missing and had to get rescued by _Kirk_ of all people. He's going to gloat for months."

The rant was starting to grate on Bridges' nerves but Commander Winchester simply rolled his eyes. "Drama queen."

Captain Winchester did an offended double take. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Then there was a shared grin and Bridges was left alone in the transporter room.

* * *

><p><em>Two days later…<em>

Admiral Pike tried to smother a grin at the sight of a very self-satisfied, content Captain Winchester. "Why is Commander Bridges' hair the colour of a lime?" he asked sternly.

The entire bridge crew blinked innocently at the admiral. "Well," Dean drawled with supreme satisfaction, "our hydroponics and water filtration system is very sensitive and Sammy here was over on the _Potemkin_. We just couldn't maintain the correct ph balance in that part of the ship until he came back."

"Just that one shower? No one else reported the same problem?"

Dean shrugged guilelessly. "He was housed in the science quarters, sir. Sam's got some nerds who wear wacky hair colours. They might not have noticed the change."

Pike gave up. "You've been removed from the exchange program rotation permanently unless of course you and Kirk would like to swap personnel."

"_Enterprise_, maybe." Dean was dead serious now. "I wouldn't mind swapping with _Enterprise_. But next time, I do not want to be told that I am giving up my crew to unspecified personnel. My ship's efficiency dropped by 30% and we went into battle under those conditions, to say nothing of the loss in morale. I had to take…drastic action to repair the damage."

"Drastic action my ass," Pike muttered.

Dean grinned cheekily. He didn't care. Sammy was on the ship again.

All was right in his world.


End file.
